Goodbyes were said and I was left with the biting mosquitoes, sweating flies, kamikaze moths and an uncertain Uncle Skeeter and Aunt Cleo. I asked why the house was shaped so weird, probably not polite, but hey, when you are seven you can get away with stuff like that.

      “It’s a shotgun house,” Uncle Skeeter replied.

      “Why?” I asked.

      “Well,” Uncle Skeeter explained, “there is no room for the devil or evil to hide in because there are no doors on the rooms, accept the added on toilet. I can shoot a shotgun from the front door through all three rooms and out the back chasing out all the evil and the devil if I have to.”

      “OH!” I said in awe and fear.

      Although I had seen Uncle Skeeter at family gatherings, I had never really looked at him. He appeared tall, but then most everyone looks tall to a seven year old. In reality he was about five feet six inches tall with a body of ropy coiled muscles that looked like the word fat had never been heard. He stood in front of me with a Dixie beer in one hand and a roll your own glued to his upper lip. His eyes were scary, an algal green that lacked life and were depthless, covering some deep secrets. I glanced quickly away and my eyes widened as they discovered a grouping of ragged circles embedded in his left shoulder. It’s hard to hide things in one of those old man t-shirts without sleeves. A faint purple line stretched from his right elbow to his right shoulder, a fine line, almost like a tattoo but with more meaning. I was afraid to ask where all these scars and lines came from or if he had more, but I had a feeling they had something to do with evil.

      As it was approaching 9:00, the witching hour, I was shown to my couch in the front room where I would sleep. I was the directed to the toilet to perform my nightly ritual. Any major bodily functions had to be taken to the outhouse, as indoors was strictly light duty. I walked into the small room, latched the door and turned to discover a john, basin, and small metal bathtub. I took a whiz while counting the various spiders scuttling across the ceiling. With one hand I attempted to brush my teeth while using the other hand to swat mosquitoes. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a movement by the john. No way Jose I told myself. Oh my God! There is something moving in the toilet bowl, a monster is in here with me. Please God help me and I won’t be a pain in the ass anymore.

      Then, a large shiny black head peered out from the white ceramic toilet bowl. As the head spins and opens its mouth an interior is exposed that matches the brightness of the john. A snake, and not one that looks cuddly and friendly, in fact he looks down right mean. Scream you idiot, scream, I try to tell myself, but the brain waves aren’t connecting with the mouth. My mouth is swollen with cotton and nothing is getting in or out. The snake is between me and the door, so the door is out. The window over the tub is way too small. I jump into the tub and hope it will save me. As I turn I see the snake coming out of the john leaving a trail of water in his wake. Fascinated, I glance at the snake’s eyes, a mistake, for now I feel like I am falling into a state of calm. The eyes begin to pull my soul from within me, leaving an empty husk behind. I feel helpless, yet quite willing to go wherever this evil leads me. As the snake nears the tub I no longer care. A small crash and then a large explosion rock my mind and jolt my soul. Pieces of snake and drops of blood rain down on me. Wearily I look up to see Uncle Skeeter with a still smoking shotgun standing over me.

      “You got to watch out for evil boy, it’s in the most unexpected places.”